


Birth of Fidelity

by Brokenwords



Series: The Virtue of Corruption Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Future, BAMF Stiles, Derek POV, Future Fic, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Derek, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenwords/pseuds/Brokenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took all of Derek's strength to stomp down instinct and tamper desire. His wolf wanted nothing more than to press teeth deep into Stiles flesh, sink in and change, claim further than he'd ever dared before. He wouldn't though, because Stiles had him wrapped around his human fingers, all sweet smelling lust and tainted innocence. At one time he'd smelled of summer, thick and warm like fresh grass and sunshine. Now his scent carried hints of midnight and damp earth, too much time spent chasing shadows and burying guilt to be clean. Derek didn't know if he missed the old or reveled in the new. But at least, if nothing else, Stiles smelled like the pack, <i>like Derek</i>, like he belonged. They were the rejects of society, unwanted and judged, but they had each other.  </p>
<p>Sequel to 'Death of Morality'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birth of Fidelity

  


_I want to hide the truth_  
 _I want to shelter you_  
 _But with the beast inside_  
 _There’s nowhere we can hide_  
  
\- Demons: Radioactive 

  
Derek hated fire. The smell of smoke and ash reminded him of burnt flesh and past mistakes. He wasn't in Beacon Hills anymore though, not even California, and the crisp of autumn got downright chilly when the stars peeked out and the moon hung low in the sky. Pacing through the frosted underbrush he bit down the urge to howl, and instead followed an invisible path of scents around their campsite. His beta's were sleeping, curled around each other and wrapped in blankets on the hard metal bed of an old pickup stolen in place of the too obvious Camaro. The only other person still awake was Stiles, sitting by their small fire, wool throw snug over his shoulders and shivering in time with the crack pop of burning wood. 

It was cold, too cold to be comfortable, especially for a human, but a hotel was out of the question when Stiles' face was plastered all over the media. The rest of them were wanted too, for questioning at the very least, but more likely as accomplices. It wasn't a coincidence their disappearance from Beacon Hills together coincided with Stiles breaking out of prison. Still, there were no pictures of them in recent years, eye flares wiping out distinguishing features and police sketches were vague enough for them to pass un-noticed. No like Stiles, his golden brown and all too human eyes shone clear as day in photos, haunted as they were. 

Satisfied that their perimeter was unchallenged, deep in the woods and free from prying eyes, Derek slowly slid closer to the flickering light and warmth of the fire. 

"Come on Sourwolf," Stiles voice mumbled before he'd even stepped into the glow of orange.

Derek didn't jump, but it was a close call. It was eerie how well Stiles could predict him these days. He'd been quiet, and at one time it would have been so easy to sneak up on the other, to frighten him, make his heart lurch in his chest. He was getting sloppy, either that or Stiles knew him too well - a terrifying thought, one that almost made him melt back into the shadows. But he could see the hunch of shoulders and the minute shivers trembling down a curved spine and the instinct to protect what was his had him moving closer, crouching behind and sliding until his chest pressed against the ridges of muscle and bone and his heat leeched through wool and cotton into skin. 

A soft sigh sounded as Stiles leaned back, edgy but unafraid. One of Derek's hands slid down as he settled, legs bracketing slim hips while his palm crept under fabric to rest on a smooth belly possessively. It was only then that he felt tension begin to melt even as a heavy shudder wracked the thin frame in his arms. 

"It's too cold out here for you," Derek stated quietly. _You aren't a wolf, you don't run hot, you shouldn't be out here like this._

Soft skin rubbed against the stubble on his cheek as Stiles pressed his nose into it and mouthed at his jaw. "It's my fault we are."

Derek shook his head, "No." The guilt that was always heavy in his belly lurched. Stiles might have been the one to pull the trigger, he might be the one on the run, the one they'd broken out, but it was never Stiles _fault_. That blame began nearly fifteen years ago with Derek, with his teenage hormones, lust and inability to spot danger, with the bitch Kate burning his family alive. It continued with not letting Scott kill Peter and getting drunk on power, with thinking he could turn a bunch of fucked up teenagers and be an Alpha out of arrogance. And it ended with Derek not being there to stop Stiles father from getting hurt, killed. Or maybe it all just boiled down to his inability to push away the body currently in his arms, all warm inviting skin and trust. He burrowed his face into Stiles neck, nosing away his hoodie until he could feel bare skin. 

Stiles relaxed instantly, neck tipping to the side in offering that pleased him more than it should. Responding to Derek's wolf was a learned act, not an instinctive one like it was in his betas. Stiles did it because he wanted to, because one day he'd gotten sick of being pushed into walls and had simply clutched his hands in leather and pulled closer instead of shoving away. His kiss had been all eager stupidity and recklessness. Just barely seventeen and still oh so foolish. Derek should have pushed him away then. He still should. 

Nosing deeper, taking in the scent he missed so much, it took all his strength to stomp down instinct and tamper desire. His wolf wanted nothing more than to press teeth deep into Stiles flesh, sink in and change, claim further than he'd ever dared before. He wouldn't though, because Stiles had him wrapped around his human fingers, all sweet smelling lust and tainted innocence. At one time he'd smelled of summer, thick and warm like fresh grass and sunshine. Now his scent carried hints of midnight and damp earth, too much time spent chasing shadows and burying guilt to be clean. Derek didn't know if he missed the old or revelled in the new. But at least, if nothing else, Stiles smelled like the pack, _like Derek_ , like he belonged. They were the rejects of society, unwanted and judged, but they had each other. 

The hand under Stiles hoodie slid over smooth skin at the thought. Stiles was pack, but more importantly he was Derek's, and since Stile's escape three days ago, there hadn't been time to reinstate that ownership. He shuddered softly and mouthed along Stiles' neck. "I want," he breathed helplessly, fingers dancing over the button of jeans in request. It’d been months, _months_ of anxious fears and growls, pacing in the woods and howling at the moon, missing Stiles, his scent, his touch, his wit. All he wanted now was Stiles, smooth and strong and under him.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, fingers squeezing at Derek’s knees. "Please." 

*

The ground was hard, the rich smell of earth barely visible under the crisp scent of frost and heavy tang of smoke. Stiles was splayed out beneath him, t-shirt shucked up under his armpits and jeans undone and half shoved down his hips. He looked debauched and Derek had barely touched him – his stomach rippled, toned in a way that hadn’t been there when they first met – the glint in his eyes, the puff of lips already swollen, anything but innocent. Derek wanted to bury his face in warm muscles and lick away the memories of rank cells and stuffy court rooms. He wanted to bruise the sharp flares of hip bones and nip at the patch of skin between belly and groin, leaving a path of marks that left no doubt Stiles belonged to him. 

“Go on then,” Stiles hips arched off the ground, voice low and velvet. He’d grown up so much, nerves gone and replaced with an unshakable calm that frightened most. Derek understood it all too well. “Mark me up. I can see you want to.” 

Derek could feel his eyes flare red at the invitation and he knew they had to look menacing in the firelight. Stiles only shuddered, the scent of his arousal thickening as one hand lifted up to stroke over Derek’s cheek. Goosebumps pebbled over his skin and it was enough to cause a growl, low and deep to rumble from Derek’s throat as he bent down. 

Taste told a story, it was something humans would never understand, but to Derek, the tang of Stiles’ sweat mingled with the dirt of days on the run, was a map. He could pick out the remnants of rest stop soap on his belly, used to clean the scrape on his side from the crash, mingled with rubber of tires squealing on asphalt and blood, of skin knitting back together, of the leather of Derek’s car, the salt of Erica’s fingers holding up Stile’s shirt to check for damage, of Boyd’s arms wrapping Stiles in a silent hug, and Isaac’s shy clap on the shoulder. And under all that were deeper lingering tastes of jail, small spaces, scratchy uniforms and regret. Nuzzling deep, Derek sought to erase those memories, tongue rough as it circled a smooth belly button and dipped lower, fingers clenching in his hair and breath vibrating under his lips. 

*

“Now what?” Stiles voice was rough from too many bitten back moans, body sticky and warm where he was wrapped up in Derek’s arms, worn out, bruised and staring into the fire once more. The wolf inside Derek hummed in satisfaction, breathing in the scent of belonging. 

It was a question Derek had been both waiting for, and dreading, and part of him was surprised Stiles had waited so long to ask. It didn’t make it any easier to answer though. Derek might be the Alpha, but he had a history of bad choices. That said, he didn’t go into this completely blind either, Stiles had taught him the value of being prepared. Pressing his nose to the back of Stiles’ neck he huffed, “What do you want to happen?”

A tiny bitter laugh fell from Stile’s lips. “I want…” he paused and Derek could hear the remorse that would never go away, the desire to go back in time mingled with the knowledge of what he might lose even if he could. Regret never mingled well with selfish love. “I don’t know what I want.” He finally answered.

“There are packs, allied packs that would hide us, if you want safety.” Derek replied calmly, listing the options he’d planned. He knew it wasn’t what Stiles truly wanted though, Stiles didn’t know how to play safe, and he never had. Not even when he was sixteen and afraid and desperately trying to make sense of the supernatural world he’d fallen into. Even then he’d sought out the danger, fought tooth and nail against everything evil to protect those he thought deserved it. Nevertheless, Derek gave him a moment to consider the possibility for a sense of normality before adding, “Or, there are hunters out there that follow the code, and covens that don’t care about humans, fae that feed off them. They are spread out over the country, enough that no one would be able to track our movements if we were careful.”

Stile’s heart thudded, once, twice, and Derek knew he’d made his choice. The hunted would become the hunters. Hauling him closer, all bare slick skin under the clear sky, he wondered how his life had evolved where the Sherriff’s kid who’d once put him in jail was now the one he’d broken out, how he’d gone from a woman who’d destroyed him to a boy who would destroy for him, how he’d gone from having nothing to holding this beautiful creature, pale limbs spattered in red nips, and _knowing_ he’d let nothing and no one take him away. Sinking human teeth into the curve of shoulder, he smelled the ash of the fire and didn’t care. The past stung but he had Stiles and a pack that would follow him anywhere, and the hunters of the world could go fuck themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Does this count as a Sequel? Someone suggested writing one from Derek's POV and it intrigued me enough to attempt it. So here you go.


End file.
